


Minutes

by AngelGirl4212



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 02:23:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelGirl4212/pseuds/AngelGirl4212
Summary: Minutes is all we really have.





	Minutes

_There's no such thing as hours, _she says, transparent feet dangling from the edge of my bed. Well, as dangling as I suppose that they're going to get. _Which is funny because hours are just a whole lot of minutes_. She pauses, her barely-there tongue touching the top of her barely-there lip, _Minutes are definitely real._

I watch her carefully. My eyes lose her every once awhile as the sun shifts through the heavy curtains. She's so much clearer in the dark. I watch and wish that I could grasp her, run my fingers over the heavy scars on her wrists, push her down and make love to her...wonder if it'll be like making love to myself.

_Minutes._

_When you slide the knife over your flesh, minutes drag. The outside world, the living world, they see time in hour-long blocks. You spend eight hours at work. A movie is two hours at the theatre (at home it takes longer because you can use the pause button when you need to take a piss). But dead people, only see time in minutes because the seconds lasts longer. When it hurts, when it's all going to be over and you're hyper-aware of how this is the last time that you'll ever hold anything in your hand or feel blood ooze over closed fingers,the clock doesn't seem to move at all._

_Minutes,_she says again. I look hard at the clock. It doesn't move.

It never really moves anymore.

***

I think of her the entire time I'm at work, watching the people around me counting hours. Sarah has an hour before she can pick up her photos at the photography store, Eric has an hour before his movie starts at the Mall's theatre, my co-workers have eight hours before they can all go home.

I have 480 minutes before I can talk to her again, talk to her and twist my belt between sore fingers.

540 minutes before her transparent fingers slide over (inside) mine, helping to steady me as I guide the noose over my head.

560 minutes before my transparent toes will brush against her transparent ankle, our legs dangling over the edge of my bed, invisible where the sun hits our skin.

590 minutes before my mom comes home and starts screaming.

_Minutes, _I'll say in the note tacked to my closet door (firmly shut so she doesn't have to look), _minutes is all we really have._

The End


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